


Impatience

by thelookyouredoingthelookagain



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Essentially PWP with a bit of fluff, Explicit Sexual Content, Kissing, M/M, Pining, Pouting, Puzzles, Realisation, Series 1-ish, Sherlock Misses John, Sweet Sherlock, Text Flirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 12:50:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5457116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelookyouredoingthelookagain/pseuds/thelookyouredoingthelookagain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>From The Archives</i><br/>John's away and Sherlock's not happy. However, the time apart leads him to realise something he'd never thought he'd feel, and once he does -- he needs John back at the flat immediately.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sherlock (Eventually) Tries To Act Like An Adult

**Author's Note:**

> All works here were produced by two friends in the fandom. One writes as SH and one as John, and we edit together. Our characters are based on the BBC's _Sherlock_ , though we don't mind playing a little loosely with canon and the occasional AU. We have whims and like to follow them. While we like to torture our boys with constant misunderstandings, we know they belong together and we always see to that.
> 
> All posted works are complete, and we hope there will be something for everyone. Please take a look at our other works. Just a note, though, there's pretty much always going to be smut. Sometimes fluff, sometimes angst, but always smut. We can't help it: that's just the way we are.
> 
> We plan to add new work each weekend, so please subscribe.
> 
> We also really appreciate the kudos and comments. They mean a lot -- sometimes they inspire new ideas and works, sometimes they just make us feel all warm inside.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

It wasn't right not having John in the flat. Sherlock understood that John had aspects of his life of which he was not a part. He understood that logically. But he did not like it.

Two weeks without him. The longest they'd been apart since they had met. Sherlock's phone vibrated, but when he saw Lestrade's name he ignored it. He had an inbox full of unread messages: he was not interested. He was only interested in hearing from John. Which explained why Sherlock's sent messages read "to: John" all the way down. He knew he was being childish -- bombarding John with messages at all hours of the day -- but he didn't care: missing John was bigger than his pride at the moment. Sherlock picked up his phone.  
  
_It's been thirty six hours since your last text and twenty three minutes since mine. If this is a test, I am failing. SH_

_Sherlock, I have been very busy trying to help Harry with the wedding plans. I will be home soon. -JW_

_Sounds boring. Could you remind me precisely when you are coming back? SH_

_Three more days. The wedding is two weekends from now. And you're coming. -JW_

_You say three more days but you mean seventy two hours. Seventy two hours plus the 332 you have already been away. That is a very long time, John. SH  
_

_PS May be busy that weekend. Probably washing my hair. SH_

_I told you I was going to be away, Sherlock, stop being a child. And yes, you are coming. -JW_

_Advance warning is irrelevant. Knowing the world is going to end will not make the end any less intolerable. SH_

Sherlock looked around the empty flat and then sent another text.

_If you come home tonight, I promise to attend the wedding. This seems a reasonable compromise. SH_

_I can't, you know that. And you are coming to my sister's wedding! -JW_

_But you're needed here. SH_

_My sister needs me. -JW_

_Harry has whatever the other one is called. The point is I have no one. SH  
_

_And for what exactly am I needed? -JW_

_Come home and find out. SH_

_I have to be here for the rehearsal dinner. Can you give me a hint? -JW_

_I think I might be poorly. Your professional opinion is needed. SH_

_You are not ill enough for me to skip the dinner. You will see me Sunday night. -JW_

Sherlock started to type a response, then set his phone on the arm of the chair. He thought of Mycroft. Of all the times Mycroft responded to him as if he were a child. All the times he allowed Sherlock to behave like a child. There were benefits, of course, but also repercussions. Sherlock picked up his phone.

_I am not poorly. I am lonely. I miss you. SH  
_

He hit send before he could regret it.

John stared at the message. Oh. Well, that was unexpected. He wanted to run home now, wondering when he'd ever hear something like that again. He started typing back three different times before finally sending a message.

_If I leave right after the dinner, I can be home early Sunday morning. -JW_

Sherlock read the message four times, setting down his phone in between each reading to look out the window at the rain. Then he picked up his phone.

_Until then I shall tidy the flat and limit texts to no more than 10 per hour. SH_

John smiled at the message and suddenly felt a bit guilty for not bringing Sherlock along with him.

_I miss you too, you know. -JW_

Sherlock smiled. He stood up and stretched his body; it felt like he hadn't left that chair for days and suddenly he had energy. He looked around the flat; there was much to do. He put the kettle on and texted.

_I shall see you in sixty six hours. The previous messages do not count towards my 10 per hour limit. SH_

John laughed softly but was dragged into a conversation about family seating arrangements and couldn't answer.

Over the next two days, Sherlock did clean the flat. Well, kind of. He washed the dishes, put them away, and picked the rubbish off the floor. He was surprised by some of the things he found, things he didn't realise he had actually been looking for. He even ran a cloth over the desk and tables. He sent John no more than 10 texts an hour, usually updating him on the cleaning process, something annoying he read or heard, or random theories or revelations. One text just said "Grey"; another read "I imagine drowning is less pleasant than it might appear." He did not write "I miss you" again, assuming that John already knew.


	2. Sherlock Decides To Be Bold

On Saturday night, Sherlock was curled up in his chair. He knew John had spent the last few hours at the rehearsal dinner and, trusting John had set his phone to silent, sent him thirty messages written in code. Except Sherlock hadn't figured out the code. Essentially he had just sent John sets of random numbers. He looked at the clock and thought there was a chance the dinner had finished by now. He picked up his phone.

_Have you sorted my code? It is my deepest, darkest confession--my truest feelings--which I could never possibly say aloud. I trust you understand everything now. SH_

The dinner was just about finished, and John was glad. He was ready to go home. The random messages from Sherlock had brightened his days, and he'd replied when he could. As soon as he could, he went back to the hotel and packed. That was when he saw Sherlock's last message.

_No I haven't, but you can tell me in person in a few hours when I'm home. -JW_

_Use the train ride to sort it out. It'll keep you entertained. SH_

Sherlock felt a warmth that started in his fingers and traveled up his arms before dispersing to the rest of his body. John was coming home. He tried not to allow himself to worry if admitting he missed John would make things awkward between them. He did not want it to. He'd decided it would be okay if it made things different, as long as it was a good difference, even though he wasn't entirely sure what that might mean. In a few hours, though, he would not have to think about it: John would be home. Things would be the same or different, awkward or comfortable, good or bad. But at least the longing, the missing, the pining would be over.

_Sherlock, I honestly have no idea what these numbers mean. -JW_

John had been looking through the numbers while the train sped along and couldn't figure out a pattern. A voice in the back of his mind was hoping it was some romantic grand gesture, but the rest of him laughed that idea away. This was Sherlock he was talking about. He was probably asking John to get the milk or something silly. Perhaps spending all that time talking about the wedding was giving John romantic notions.

Sherlock thought about the code and wondered if he should try to figure it out so he could give John a proper explanation. He didn't really feel like bothering with it -- it was mainly just his boredom and impatience that had inspired the texts. But then he imagined John on the train looking at the code, trying to work it out. Maybe he'd copy down the numbers next to the alphabet. Maybe he'd get online to research. Sherlock felt a little guilty, knowing this was all his own doing. Though the picture of John trying so hard was quite sweet, Sherlock wanted John to be thinking of home, not some random set of numbers.

_Perhaps I will show you what it means when you get home. Unless you are too tired. SH_

John flushed when he read the message, unable to help smiling wide. That did kind of sound like flirting, didn't it? A hundred different scenarios ran through his head but he pushed them all away, not wanting to get his hopes up. Strange. Before he left everything was normal -- Sherlock was just his flatmate. But now, after this time apart . . . John had hated it and then Sherlock confessed he did as well. Something felt different.

_Oh? I should be alright. The trip is fairly easy. -JW_

_This is good to hear. I am waiting impatiently for you. SH_

Sherlock thought for a moment -- was he flirting with John? He looked up for his phone, into the empty room, and determined that yes, there was a relatively good chance that that was exactly what he was doing. He didn't ask himself why. After the past few weeks' behaviour, he'd come to accept that his feelings for John were not what one would describe as usual for a flatmate. However, Sherlock worried that the flirting might be giving John the wrong impression -- he didn't want to John to dread coming back to the flat or worry what new scheme Sherlock was up to. He needed to say something normal.

_Shall I get us something to eat or just put the kettle on? SH_

Sherlock wasn't sure he could name what he felt for John nor was he sure exactly what he wanted John to feel, but he knew it was not dread or worry. Sherlock opened his Sent folder and stared at the coded messages again. Was he trying to confess a secret after all? Had his subconscious decided for him? The numbers wiggled into his head and rearranged and rearranged themselves.

_Just the kettle, please. I ate at the rehearsal dinner. Can I get a clue about these numbers? -JW_

Sherlock scanned and scanned the numbers in his head. He would not pick up his phone until he found the meaning. Sherlock never did things that were meaningless -- the meanings were often unknowable to others, but they were always there somewhere.

Then he saw it.

But instead of explaining it, he typed:

_Do you know Polish? SH_

_What? Of course not. Is that my hint? It's not very helpful.-JW_

_The code is too difficult for you. Try this:_ Myślałam o całuje twoją twarz. Mogę? _SH_

_What am I supposed to do with that? -JW_

_More than half a million people in Britain speak Polish as their first language. One is bound to be on your train. Do not cheat. Get it translated. By a woman. SH_

_I don't know, Sherlock. This doesn't sound wise. -JW_

_Just do it. And then immediately show her this:_ Jestem zmieszany. Wybacz mi. _SH_

John found a woman a few seats over who didn't know Polish. The second one he tried did know Polish, but she slapped John's face before he got a chance to show her the second message.

_I'm being attacked. -JW_

John tried a man this time who gave John a very confused look but translated the words for him. John was so stunned he couldn't even show the man the second text. He wandered back to his seat and simply sat there until the train started slowing down. He was too nervous to reply back, not knowing what to say. He needed to think. Was Sherlock messing with him? Or was this part of the code? He wanted it to be real -- he knew that now. The way his pulse changed when he thought of Sherlock, the way just picturing him made him smile. But what if this was just an elaborate joke, just Sherlock's payback for John leaving him so bored? Then his phone buzzed again.

_I trust you have figured it out. Please have your answer ready by the time you return. SH_

Sherlock realised that now it was done, he had done it, it couldn't be taken back. He considered the possible options that could occur when John walked through the door.

  1. John would not have got the translation. Sherlock did not feel able to say it to John's face. He would need to make up something on the spot and change the subject, deleting the messages from John's phone at the first opportunity.
  2.  John got the translation and thought it was wrong or didn't understand. Sherlock again would be forced to improvise and later delete.
  3.  John could ignore the whole stupid code fiasco, regardless of whether or not he knew what Sherlock had said.



If Sherlock distracted John the minute he walked in, #3 was a real possibility and probably the best of the lot.

Except maybe there was a #4. Maybe John would say, yes, you may kiss me or maybe (#5) John would kiss Sherlock.

The anticipation was electric. This would normally have thrilled Sherlock, but this time it just made him feel a bit sick.

Once the train had arrived, John got a taxi home. Before going in, though, he stood on the pavement for a moment, staring up at the windows and then the door. How was he going to find out if Sherlock was serious or not? There was only one way. He would have to walk in and see what happened. Without Sherlock's reaction to seeing him in person -- without seeing Sherlock in person -- he couldn't do anything but guess and when it came to Sherlock Holmes, guessing was virtually impossible. 

When he heard the taxi, Sherlock made a last minute decision. He had made the first move, so to speak, so he would leave it to John to make the second. He would just greet John as one would greet a good friend who had been away for 398 hours. Except he wasn't quite sure how one would do that. Act natural, he told himself. But he wasn't sure how to do that either.


	3. John Decides To Be Bold

John shook his bag a bit before finally starting upstairs. Each step made his stomach fall a bit more and finally, with a deep breath, he entered their flat. "Sherlock?" he called, kicking his shoes off and hanging up his jacket. 

Sherlock had decided to be sitting in the kitchen. That'd be natural, he'd thought, because that is where Sherlock often sat. He would not rush over to John, and he wouldn't demand attention by pouting either. He would not do anything that could be defined as making a scene. He would act normal, neutral. He put on his best neutral face. "In here," he called but the minute John's face came into view, Sherlock's body was flooded and his eyes filled -- with relief. And warmth. Sherlock smiled at John. Not a cheeky smile, not an awkward smile. A genuine smile.

John had been expecting Sherlock to be hovering by the door or waiting in his chair, insisting that John never leave again, but none of that was happening. Sherlock was acting very . . . normal. And that was not normal. John slowly made his way to the kitchen and -- wow. Sherlock always accused John of seeing and not observing, but right now, that moment, he observed something very unusual. Sherlock was beaming -- oh my god, that smile. He was so obviously happy that John was home, and it was thrilling and gorgeous. John bit his lip and smiled back before moving to stand in front of him. He wondered if he looked just as happy. He felt happier. He leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss on Sherlock's lips. 

There wasn't time from Sherlock's brain to think. There was just John kissing Sherlock's mouth. Sherlock kissed him back. He stood up from his chair, still kissing John back and slipped his hand around the back of John's head, sliding his fingers in to his hair. He still kissed John. He didn't want to stop kissing John.

John tilted his head and pushed himself up a bit so the kiss wouldn't break, humming softly.

How did Sherlock survive over two weeks with John? But more importantly, how had Sherlock lived so long with John without ever having done this before? It seemed incredible -- all the adventures they had had, all the things they had done together -- why had they had never done this? If Sherlock had his way right now, they would never stop doing this. Despite knowing they'd eventually need to eat and sleep and breathe, Sherlock had no plans to stop. He was lost in this kiss and would happily be so forever.

John took deep breaths through his nose, unwilling to pull away and break it. His hands gently roamed around Sherlock's torso until finally settling on his hips.

Suddenly, Sherlock realised he needed John's body closer. He slid his arms around John's waist and pulled his body into his, not roughly, but steadily with an urgency, like he couldn't possibly get close enough to John. He turned both of them so that John's back was to the wall, and Sherlock pushed himself into John.

John moaned properly now, gripping his hips tightly and rolling hard into Sherlock, holding him in place.

John's noises excited Sherlock and he found himself releasing his own -- a gasping attempt at breath through a low, instinctual groan. Without thinking, he pulled his lips from John's and quickly pulled the doctor's jumper over his head and as Sherlock's mouth went back to the kiss, he began unbuttoning John's trousers.

Following Sherlock's lead, John worked on the stubborn buttons of his shirt. "Why didn't you greet me in the bloody sheet?" John asked, grinning as his fingers moved lower.

Sherlock smiled. Was it just fifteen minutes ago he was nervously sitting there, wondering how things would be when John got home? He hadn't really thought it would be like this, that they would both fall into this, so naturally. Sherlock stepped a few inches back and pulled off his now unbuttoned shirt. He unbuckled his belt and finished stripping, nodding to John for him to do the same. Once he had, Sherlock pulled him into the sitting room, where they both fell onto the sofa.

Sherlock's mouth found John's, but it didn't stay with it. Sherlock kissed and licked all over John's face, as if he were hungry to consume the doctor. His hands were moving over John's body. Into John's ear, Sherlock growled, "One week ago I was on this sofa when I realised I wanted you."

"A week?" John asked, panting heavily. "I didn't know . . . until you said you missed me," he admitted.

"You shouldn't have let me suffer," Sherlock smiled at him. "It's been horrible." Their bodies were frenzied, but Sherlock wanted to slow down -- not out of hesitation, but to savour it all. He moved his hands to John's hips, pressing them into his own, and began rocking up against John.

The friction of their cocks rubbing together was almost too much for John. "Now . . . I'm home," John moaned as he rutted back against Sherlock.

"I hated your being away," Sherlock said and kissed John's neck. "So much so I'll go to that wedding if that's what you want." His hands were still on John's waist, though their bodies' rhythm was increasing. "I just want to always be with you." 

"Ah . . . I didn't . . . like it . . . either," John panted, wondering how Sherlock could speak so calmly.

"I would also like. . ." Sherlock said, controlling his breath, "to be inside you." Sherlock had been thinking about this for a week now: first he had imagined the kiss, then the touching, and then the rest. He shifted on the sofa to lie on top of John, sneaking John's legs apart with his knees. "What do you think?" he asked, looking into John's eyes.


	4. What Happened Next

John blinked back, his breathing shallow. "In-inside?" He felt his cheeks burning. He wanted Sherlock, he knew that for sure. He'd never really imagine how it would go and here was Sherlock, confidently leading the way. John nodded. "Okay," he said.

"We don't have to," Sherlock said, nuzzling John's cheek. "We can stay like this. We don't have to." He kissed John tenderly on his mouth. Sherlock did want to -- he had thought about it and yes, he definitely did want to. But it didn't have to be now -- it didn't have to be ever actually. Whatever John would give him, he would happily take.

"It's okay," John nodded again. "I want to . . . I'm just . . . nervous," he smiled softly.

Sherlock stroked John's face. He was smiling. He said softly, "John, this is new for both of us. If it . . . doesn't work, we can stop. We can go back to what we were doing or we can stop that as well. We can do it another time or we don't have to. I'd like to try this, but only if you are sure."

"I trust you," John said simply, holding Sherlock's gaze. "And I love you," he added.

John's name came out of Sherlock's mouth like a gasp -- as if John's name in and of itself was his breath. "I love you. I do," he kissed John's shoulder. "It's why I want you. I want us to share this." He slid his hand down John's chest and rested it on his abdomen. "I won't do anything without your knowing first. If you don't want me to do it, I won't. If I change my mind about doing it, I will stop. Okay? Shall we try?"

John nodded. "Yes please," he said. His stomach flipped nervously but excitedly, like a teenager all over again. "I want to share this with you, Sherlock."

Sherlock smiled again. Had he even stopped smiling once since John got home? He said. "I'm going to stroke you now." The hesitancy of the short conversation had cooled things a little. Sherlock watched his hand move to John's cock, almost tickling it first, touching ever so lightly then building up the rhythm as he felt it start to harden again. He could feel his own cock start to stiffen as he watched himself touching John. Sherlock looked back up to John's face. "Is this okay?"

"P-perfect," John moaned softly, his eyes slipping closed. Sherlock's hands -- those big, beautiful hands -- were around him, touching him and making him feel amazing. He moaned loudly.

"You're beautiful," Sherlock whispered. He meant it. The vision of John in his hand, the noises slipping out of John's mouth, the rhythm of the movement -- all of these things were almost overloading Sherlock's senses. He moved his body down the sofa. He was still stroking John but lowered his face closer to the action, breathing in slowly and exhaling a warm breath. He slipped his other hand between John's legs, squeezing his inner thigh while letting the tips of his fingers just brush against John's balls.

"Do you want me to stop?" Sherlock asked.

John shook his head but couldn't make words to speak. He could only moan and pant and writhe under Sherlock.

Sherlock kept moving his hands on John. Then he said, "I'm going to put my mouth on you now. I need to know for sure you want that. I need you to say the word yes."

John swallowed hard and nodded. "Yes," he breathed.

"I like hearing you say yes," Sherlock said with a cheeky grin. He tilted John's cock towards him slightly and slid the tip into his mouth. He still held the base, allowing him to control the action. He swirled his tongue over John, before taking more of it into his mouth. John's cock was warm and wet and hard. Sherlock bobbed his head up and down over John, holding John's balls in his hand.

John groaned with the amount of pleasure shooting through his body. "Sh-Sherlock God!" he moaned, arching off of the sofa.

Sherlock was so pleased he was doing the right things. He loved that he was making John react like this, but he also loved the way his own body was reacting. John tasted good. Sherlock didn't want to stop. He tried varying the angle, varying the stroke of his tongue -- quick flicks, long licks. He curled the tip and drew a line up John's cock, he flattened and slid it back down. He took in almost all of John, feeling him press into his throat, before he felt his gag reaction start, and he moved his lips back to the tip. He tried a few more times, each time going a little further.

John was writhing madly and making all kinds of noises, unable to make any words come out. Sherlock was incredible. "C-close," he managed to gasp out, gripping the sofa hard.

Sherlock knew he had to stop, even though he wished he could keep going. "That's good, John," he said, "it's good you told me. Now breathe in and out, catch your breath." He looked up at John, still holding John's cock in his hand firmly but without any movement. He slid his other hand up John's body, resting it on his chest. "Relax your body," he said as he stroked John's skin.

John nodded and tried to take deep breaths, trying to calm himself down. He blinked his eyes open and looked at Sherlock. "Want me to do you, too?" he asked quietly.

Sherlock froze for a second. In the last week, he had played out this scene a number of times in his head. He hadn't once considered John would offer what he'd just offered. A dilemma. A very delicious dilemma indeed. Sherlock decided this slight detour in his plan would be more than acceptable. "Yes, please," he said.

John bit his lip and nodded, moving to sit up a bit. This would be interesting indeed. 

Strangely, Sherlock felt the nerves John had mentioned earlier. It was like all of a sudden he remembered he was naked. "What, what do I do?" he said shyly.

John opened his mouth to answer, only to close it in shock. He couldn't believe after all of that initiative, Sherlock was now asking such a thing. "Um, do you want to lay down like I was? Or you can sit up and I'll kneel on the floor . . ."

"I'll lie down," Sherlock said, worried that he'd need the full length of the sofa to keep him steady. He and John shifted positions, a little awkwardly. Sherlock tried to relax into the cushions. He closed his eyes and waited.

John reached out with his hand first, stroking him lightly. If he was going to put Sherlock into his mouth, he'd better get used to touching him first. 

Sherlock did his best to follow the advice he had offered John. He thought about the in and out of his breath. He tried to ease into the moment. He ran his hand through his hair.

John gripped a bit harder and sped up his movements, swiping his thumb over the tip. 

Sherlock let out a small moan. It felt like forever since he'd be touched. He had forgotten what it felt like. Or rather he'd never known exactly what it felt to be touched by someone he loved so much. He rocked his hips with the rhythm of John's hand.

John leaned down slowly and, the next time Sherlock's hips came up, he flicked his tongue over the tip. He wasn't sure about the taste but continued to flick his tongue out like that until finally he sucked the head into his mouth. 

Sherlock's back arched. It was . . . it was almost. . . too much. "John," he called out, perhaps with a little too much panic in his voice, "stop. Please." He couldn't speak full sentences. "I don't think . . . " Think, think about what you are trying to say, he instructed himself. "I don't think . . . I'll last."

John pulled back. "It's okay," he said softly. "We can do more next time," he assured him.

There was something very satisfying about the words 'next time'. Sherlock motioned for John to lie next to him. He put his arm around John's shoulder and pulled him close. "So far, I have greatly enjoyed everything that has happened tonight. Much better than I'd imagine. I wonder what will happen next," he said with a mix of sass and genuine curiosity.

John bit his lip and smiled. "As much as I love cuddling with you, we're going to burst if we don't do something," John said. 

"Fine," Sherlock said, leaning over and sneaking a quick kiss to John's mouth, "let's do something." He moved from John's side, pulling John onto his back as he Sherlock stood. He leaned over and kissed John's mouth once more. He bent over and lowered his body onto John's, beginning to slowly rock against him again. Their skin was still damp and warm, the friction between them made Sherlock's skin almost burn. Sherlock slipped his fingers into his mouth, wetting them, and licked up his palm. He slid his hand down and stroked between John's legs.

John closed his eyes as he moaned softly, trying to focus on breathing.

"I'm going to use my finger now," Sherlock said, remembering his promise. "Can I do that to you?"

John nodded before remembering his own promise to use words. "Yes," he said.

"Good," Sherlock said. "You can change your mind anytime. Just say." Sherlock's hand was still moving between John's legs, but he brought it to rest with one finger against John's hole. He let it rest outside, giving John a minute to reconsider if he needed to. John's eyes were closed but he said nothing. So Sherlock slowly pushed his finger in, more slowly than he thought possible. As it entered, Sherlock watched John's face. It bore a mixture of anxiety, curiosity, and finally pleasure. As the muscles in John's face relaxed, so did the muscles of his body and Sherlock began to gently thrust his finger in and out, curling and twisting slightly.

John bit his lip at the feel of Sherlock's finger moving inside of him. It actually felt good. He was moaning softly and he forced his eyes open to look at Sherlock.

When John met his eyes, Sherlock smiled. It was different than any smile he had ever smiled at John before. He slipped in another finger gently, worried his fingers weren't slick enough.

John groaned and arched up higher. He never imagined this would feel so good. He was glad he was sharing this with Sherlock.

Sherlock slowed then stopped the movement. "Relax for a minute," he said plainly and gently slipped his fingers out. "I'll be right back." He stood up, rushed into his bedroom and returned to his position.

John whimpered at the loss but nodded, propping himself up when Sherlock left. He wondered what he was doing until he saw the small bottle.

"Okay, I'm going to do it again now, yes? It'll be just the same as it was, just a little . . . wetter." He poured some lube into his hands and rubbed them together to warm it. He felt better about this now -- he didn't want to hurt John. He pressed two fingertips against John. "Shall I?"

John lay back and nodded. "Yes, Sherlock," he smiled softly.

Sherlock pushed in, straight into a steady rhythm. He leaned forward and licked John's cock as he did, feeling his own getting harder. He nuzzled John with his nose, rubbed his cheek against, then sucked up along the side. He moved his fingers in different ways, stretching John open.

"Oh! Sherlock that's . . . that's so good," he panted. He laced his fingertips through Sherlock's hair, moaning softly.

Sherlock loved the feel of John's fingers in his hair. It felt like such an intimate way of touching him, as intimate as the way Sherlock was touching John. Sherlock ached for John. "Do you think . . . you're ready to try, now?" he struggled to get the words out of his mouth. "Do you still want to? I have to be sure you're sure."

"I think so," John breathed. "Yes, I want to." John's nerves had slipped away, and he was hot with lust now, Sherlock's fingers no longer enough.

Sherlock smiled. "Let's try then," he said. "I'll go slow. If you want to stop, any time, you tell me. I just want this to be good." Sherlock grabbed the condom he'd brought in, tipped some more lube into his hand and stroked himself. His cock was so hard, and his own hand made him shiver in anticipation. He leaned over John's body, holding himself up with one arm resting on the sofa next to John's chest. With his other hand, he stroked himself a few more times then guided his cock to John's body, to the space his fingers had opened for him. He pressed in.

John moaned and closed his eyes, loving the feel of being stretched open like this. All for Sherlock. "God. . . it's good," he breathed.

Once he felt secure in his positioning, Sherlock bent his arm and lowered his body on John's. He rocked his hips with each soft thrust. His mouth found John's and they kissed. One of Sherlock's arms wrapped around John's neck, his hand covered the back of John's head, pushing it closer to his mouth as Sherlock pushed further into John's body. 

John moaned into the kiss, wrapping his arms gladly around Sherlock and matching his movements slowly. It felt incredible -- he wanted it to last forever.

Sherlock's mind had stopped thinking now. His body was making his decisions. His mouth was making sounds. Groans, moans, gasps and even grunts escaped and he didn't care. It felt so good doing this with John.

"H-harder," John panted, wanting more. It felt so good, so right being with Sherlock this way. He thrust up to meet him, fingers lacing into his hair again.

Sherlock trusted John too much to question, and he thrust harder into him. It felt like needing more, needing to be closer, deeper. He felt that both of them were close. His hand moved from John's head down to his cock and he began pulling, feeling its heat in his palm. In John's ear he growled, "I want you to come, John. I want you to come."

John whimpered, the words sending heat through every nerve in his body. How could he not? He arched and bucked up hard as he came all over their stomachs, calling out Sherlock's name loudly.

Sherlock let his body react to John's body's reactions. His hips thrust more intently, the building up was blinding him, and he came into John like an exhale from deep within. He crashed into John. His heart was loud, and he felt the blood in his veins.

"God, Sherlock," John moved.

Sherlock's whole body was covered in sweat. He wasn't sure he could make words even if he knew the words he wanted to say. He looked down at John, smiled, and then suddenly his smile turned to a grin which turned to almost a giggle and then a laugh. He was laughing, which he was pretty sure was not an ideal response in a situation like this. However, it was pure and honest, even though it demanded explanation. He pulled himself together a bit and dipped down to kiss John's forehead lightly. "Oh John," he tried to explain, rambling stupidly against John's hair. "It was so difficult for me with your being gone. It was just . . . horribly difficult. It seemed like it would never end, your being gone, being away. And now it has ended and even though I've thought of little else since the idea first came to me, I still can't quite believe this has happened. This . . . I can't believe it's real. I know it is," he motioned down with his head -- yes, John and Sherlock were actually naked on the sofa, there was no denying that -- "but I'm still surprised that you agreed. That you wanted this, too And that we actually did it. I'm surprised at us. Surprised but so . . . happy," he ended, kissing John's forehead once more.

John raised his brows in amusement when Sherlock started laughing and he couldn't help smiling. After all, this was rather ridiculous, the two of them naked on the sofa. But his smile turned more genuine as Sherlock spoke. "Sherlock . . . I'm sorry I was so slow to figure it out. When you said you missed me I started having little thoughts about it, but I never expected this. And then you said you wanted to kiss me -- even though it was in another language -- those little thoughts became so much bigger and when I saw you . . . it was shocking that I hadn't seen it sooner because it was suddenly so obvious how much I love you." 

"I am well aware that I make it difficult for people to feel anything but annoyance at me," Sherlock said. "I am well aware because most of the time I do it deliberately. I am different from others. My head doesn't work like theirs do and while this is a great benefit when it comes to cases, it is not always advantageous in my interactions. But you are also different from others. You're not like me, but you're still different from them. I didn't want to spoil anything. But after a short time, I realised I couldn't ignore what I was _feeling_ ," he said the word as if it were the first time he'd ever spoken it.

"I'm glad you decided to do something because if we were going to wait for me . . ."John said, shaking his head and smiling. "I was an idiot to ignore it for so long."

Sherlock doubted it was John's intention, but somehow that comment filled him with a sense of pride. He had decided to do something and he did do something. And it had worked. It was good. Sherlock had done something right in the human interaction arena. He knew that it was only because of John. There was something about John that made Sherlock feel and now act differently, but those changes would not extend outside of this flat. This Sherlock was just theirs, no one else's. 

"I would have never seen if it hadn't been for you. Well, for me going away I guess," John smiled. 

Sherlock hadn't thought about it like that. Perhaps John's trip away had been for the best, despite how painful it had been. "Somehow I think we may have been the last to know. Lestrade's texts since you've been gone indicate that perhaps he had suspicions. I can't believe he figured something out before I did," he said cheekily.

"What has he been saying?" John asked. 

"When I didn't respond, he asked if I had put a photo of myself into your bag so you wouldn't forget me and then accused me of 'pining like a girl'. Which in retrospect is precisely what I was doing." He kissed John again and said, "Indeed I was. I was pining for you, Dr Watson."

In recent days, Sherlock had fallen in love. He had flirted. He had initiated physical affection. He had had sex. And now he was being romantic. Things had definitely taken a surprising turn at 221B Baker Street.

John chuckled and Sherlock kissed him again. "At least I got a wedding date out of this," he grinned. 

Sherlock's eyes rolled instinctively, but then he apologised. "I'll try my best. I can't promise anything." Sherlock realised his arm had gone to sleep. "Should we get up from the sofa? I feel a bit chilly. And damp. And sticky."

John nodded. "Quick shower before bed?"

"Yes, that'd be wise. You must be tired," Sherlock said, glancing up to see that it was a ridiculous time of the morning.

"I am," John admitted. "Let's go, then," he said, trying to sit up. 

Sherlock imagined it'd seem odd, the two of them walking naked through the flat. However, it didn't feel that odd. He found it hard to imagine they hadn't done so before. "Would you like to sleep with me in my bed or would you prefer your own, after your time away?"

"I want to sleep with you, and I don't care where we do it," John grinned, turning the water on and adjusting the temperature. 

Sherlock's sleepiness suddenly hit his body. He stepped into the shower. "Hurry," he said. "I've just realised how terribly tired I am and I want to get into bed." His height allowed him to be hit by the water first and he was quickly soaping and rinsing. When he saw John's wet face, though, he leaned in to kiss his mouth and felt the water run over both of their lips. "Hurry," he encouraged John.

"You're not making it easy," John murmured, trying to wash off quickly. 

"I'm sorry," he mumbled even though he wasn't totally. He was sorry because he was distracting John from the task at hand, a task Sherlock wanted completed so they lie back down together, this time in a warm, soft bed. But he also wasn't sorry that he was standing here with John and able to kiss him whenever he wanted. Still, he could kiss him in bed and besides John was probably four times as tired as he was, so he stepped out to dry off while John finished.

John finished quickly and followed him out, grabbing his own towel and drying off. 

"If you really don't mind not being in your own bed, I'd like us to sleep in mine," Sherlock said. He could not remember a time someone else had slept in his bed with him.

John nodded. "That's what I was hoping for," he smiled. 

Sherlock asked, "Why?" as he led John towards his bed.

John flushed. "It's silly," he mumbled, allowing Sherlock to pull him along. 

"As you may or may not be aware, this week I have done more silly things than I have done in years. Do you know how many texts in total I sent you? Do you know that when I sent the code, I had no idea what it meant? Silliness will be allowed until tomorrow morning so please say," Sherlock asked as they snuggled face-to-face in Sherlock's bed. Which he had washed the sheets for. Because that's how silly he had been -- desperately planning that it might happen before he even knew how John felt.

"Because everything would smell like you," John admitted softly. "Even when you have a case and can't come to bed, your room still smells like you."

Sherlock smiled. "I don't think you would have liked how the flat smelled while you were gone. I hope this bed still smells like me, just a clean version of me. Leave your smell here, too so if you're ever away -- even for an hour -- I can come in here and sense you."

John nodded. "I think that's a good possibility if I'm sleeping here," he said.

"Let's go to sleep now. And when I wake up, you will be here. That will be good," Sherlock mumbled as sleep was starting to take him. He snuggled closely into John, slipping his arm around his body to John's shoulder. His hand reached up to gently John's ear, which felt soft and comfortable as he traced it.

John smiled and nuzzled into him, closing his eyes and drifting off as well. He brought his hand between them and rest it flat against Sherlock's chest before he drifted off.


End file.
